Teeth Sinking Into Heart
by singingtheatrefreak45
Summary: Molly wasn't looking for love. She only wanted to play her music, but nothing ever goes as planned when you're a member of The Beatles. This is the complete story of Molly Wade and her band, set to their songs.
1. Ticket to Ride

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.

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><p><strong>August 31<strong>**st****, 1969**

_I think I'm gonna be sad. I think it's today, yeah._

_The girl that's driving me mad is going away._

Paul sighed as he saw a scene he was desperately hoping he wouldn't have to see. The train station he walked into was completely deserted, save for a man staring at the tracks, his back towards Paul. Paul called the man's name and quickly rushed over to him. Placing a hand on the man's shoulder, Paul said his name again.

The man took his eyes off of the track to look at Paul for one second, but quickly returned his attention to the rails.

"She's gone," he said quietly.

"Aye," Paul said.

The man nodded slightly. He remained frozen where he was. After a few minutes, Paul broke the silence by saying, "C'mon. We better get back."

The man looked up, his eyes bright and hopeful. "Do you think she'll-?"

"No," Paul said almost immediately, "I don't."

"Ah," the man said, the light suddenly gone from his demeanor, "I reckon you're right."

"C'mon," Paul said, and left the station with his crestfallen friend following behind.

_She's got a ticket to ride. She's got a ticket to ride._

_She's got a ticket to ride, and she don't care._

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><p>AN: So, there's that! The beginning of my Beatles story. I'm warning you right now, this is complete AU, and there will be a lot of factual inaccuracies. <em>A lot. <em>You'd probably be better off thinking of the Beatles as fictional characters with this story, no joke. If that bothers you, I apologize. Anyways, the next chapter will be up shortly. I typically don't update very fast, but my brain is overflowing with ideas for this story, so who knows what will happen? I'd love to hear your feedback, so please review!


	2. We Can Work It Out

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.

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><p><strong>August 17<strong>**th****, 1962**

_Try to see it my way. _

_Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong._

A brown haired girl stood outside a club, biting her lip and looking up at a building. She clutched some papers in her left hand and her guitar in its case in her right, but couldn't bring herself to enter the door. It was only a nightclub, nothing to be afraid of, yet her stomach churned as if she were about to jump off a bridge.

"You're mad, Molly," she told herself in a whisper as she headed into the building.

Walking into the familiar club, Molly couldn't help but notice that by daylight, it was an entirely new place. The hazy atmosphere that usually cloaked the room was nothing but dry air, and garbage was scattered everywhere across the floor. Molly looked around the room, but didn't see anyone besides the janitor. She searched around the bar for the person she was supposed to meet, but instead found a group of three guys sitting at a table in the corner.

"Oi!" she called out, causing all three men to look at her, "Are you the band that's missing a member?"

"Aye," one of them called, "We haven't got a drummer."

"A dr-drummer?" Molly stuttered, her false bravado faltering, "I can't play the drums."

"Really? Then what the hell are ya doing here, eh?" he asked.

"I was…" Molly paused, trying to piece together what was happening. Was this all a joke? "I was told to come here because there was an opening," she muttered, her face turning red in humiliation, "I didn't know it was for a drummer."

"Sorry, love," a baby-faced guy said, "It looks like there's nothing here for you. Unless-"

"Molly!" a booming voice called out from across the bar, "You made it! I see you've met the boys."

Molly didn't know what to think. Here was the man who insisted she came here today, excited to see her, but there was the band she was supposed to be auditioning for, telling her she was unnecessary as a musician.

"C'mon, have a seat," Brian Epstein said, "We need to talk to you."

"Thank you, Mr. Epstein," she said, "but I really should be off. I'm not a drummer."

"Don't let the boys scare you," he said, taking a seat at the table, "We don't want you as a drummer."

"Then what do we need her for?" the first guy asked.

"I'm afraid that once you start becoming successful, you won't get enough staying power if you don't work up a male fan base. You've been doing quite well with the girls, but no one will take you seriously if only girls listen to you," Brian said.

"So what do you want us to do about it?" the first guy asked.

"It's not our faults we're devilishly handsome," the baby-faced guy said with a wink towards Molly.

"Be serious for two seconds in your lives, please," Brian said, "This is where Molly comes in. She'll be there for the boys to look at, you'll be there for the girls to look at, and you'll all make the music."

"But if she can't play the drums, what can she do?" the first guy asked.

Tired of being addressed as if she wasn't in the room, Molly answered for Brian.

"I can play piano and a little bit of guitar, and I could help with vocals. I've tried my hand at songwriting, but I'm really nothing special with it."

When the first guy narrowed his eyes, Molly added, "But what I lack in songwriting, I make up for in tambourine."

The first guy laughed. "Tambourine? Really?"

The corners of Molly's mouth pulled up as she stifled a grin. "I'm a natural."

"What's that you got there?" Baby-Face asked.

"Oh, these?" Molly said, looking at the papers in her hand, "They're just some songs I was working on. You can look at them if you like."

She passed the papers to Baby-Face, and bit her lip nervously as he read them.

"They're pretty good," he reluctantly admitted, "Could use some work."

"So, what do you guys think?" Brian asked.

The third member, speaking for the first time, said, "I dunno. You seem like a nice girl and all, but I just don't like the sound of 'The Beatles and Beatlette.'"

"I'm not being called a fucking _Beatlette_," Molly blurted out.

As the four men laughed, Molly's face turned bright red. What a perfect way to be immediately kicked out.

"I say we keep her," Baby-Face said, "What about you, John?"

The first guy still had a sort of scowl on his face, "I dunno."

"Couldn't you play us something?" the third suggested.

"Great idea, Georgie. Play us this song you wrote," Baby-Face suggested.

"Er, okay," Molly said hesitantly, taking her guitar out. "It's not perfect-"

"Just get on with it," John said.

Molly's face turned bright red, and she started playing her guitar. After an encouraging smile from Baby-Face, she sang, "If I fell in love with you, and you said you'd love me too, could we be more than friends? Because I've been in love before, and I've found that love was more than just playing pretend. If I fall in love with you, I must be sure that you'd love me too, and we won't break each other's hearts. If I fall in love, oh please, don't run and hide. If I fall in love with you, don't hurt my pride like her's, because I couldn't stand the pain, and I would feel like running outside in the rain. So I hope you see that I would love to love you."

She finished the song, and waited nervously for any reaction from the guys. Molly swore she saw a grin tugging at Baby-Face's lips, but she couldn't be sure since no one made a sound until the first guy spoke.

"Those lyrics need work," John said, "and it needs to be sped up."

Molly's face fell at his comments, but she immediately perked up when he continued.

"I think we could make it work," John said with an almost-smile, "What do you think, Paulie?"

Paul, the baby-faced guy, grinned. "I agree. What about you, George?"

George studied Molly for a minute, and she stared back, trying to decipher the look on his face. After a minute, he nodded.

"Great," Brian said, clapping his hands together, "Then it's settled. I'll get a contract written up for you right away. Welcome to the Beatles, Molly!"

"Wow," Molly said, "I don't… I don't know what to say!"

"Here's a hint," Paul said, "You can start with a thank you."

"Thank you!" she nearly screamed, "Thank you Paul, and George, and John, and Mr. Epstein! Thank you!"

Brian chuckled.

"No need for all that formality," he said, "Brian's good enough. Now, I've got to find you lot a drummer, so if you'll excuse me."

Brian stood up to leave, and John shouted after him, "Ringo!"

"I heard you the first fifteen times," Brian grumbled.

"Tambourine Molly, eh?" John asked with a laugh, turning his attention back to the table.

Molly wasn't paying any attention whatsoever. Brian's words kept echoing in her head.

"Great," John huffed, "We've got ourselves a space cadet."

"Oi," Paul said, waving his hands in front of Molly's face, "Earth to the Beatlette."

"I'm not a -" Molly said, immediately snapping back to reality, "Sorry. I meant I'd like to be a _Beatle_, not a bloody _Beatlette_."

"Right now you're nothing," John said, "Not until you talk to George Martin, and something tells me he won't like this idea too much."

"But I've already talked to him." Molly said.

When she saw the incredulous looks on John, Paul, and George's faces, she explained, "I was doing a show at the bar down the street, and he was there with Brian. After the show, they came up to me and said they'd been at me past couple shows and liked me sound. They said that they'd like for me to audition for The Beatles, and of course I said yes. Mr. Martin set up this audition and said that if you lot were fine with me, he'd be fine too."

John and Paul looked at each other while George just narrowed his eyes.

"Listen, Molly," he said, "If you wanted to shag one of us, ya could've just said so when you walked in. I'm sure one of us would've obliged. Ya didn't need to create this bull shit story about auditioning for the band."

"This isn't some 'bull shit story,'" Molly spat, "It's the truth. I've got the business card to prove it."

She fished the card from her pocket and threw it at George.

"I just want to play me music," she said.

Paul's smirk lit up his whole face. "I think you'll fit in."

John rolled his eyes. "We can only hope."

_While you see it your way,_

_There's a chance that we may fall apart before too long._

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><p>AN: Would you look at that? In one chapter, we've met the protagonist, three of The Beatles, and I've successfully changed the past! I typically don't have updates out this quickly, but I have a couple chapters written already, and I couldn't leave you hanging with that last one, could I? Again, I'm sorry if the idea of a female Beatle bothers you, but in a fandom that accepts time travel, we can accept this too, can't we? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, so please review! :-D<p> 


	3. Hey Bulldog

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.

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><p><strong>August 22nd, 1962<strong>

_Some kind of happiness is measured out in miles._

Five days after Brian found The Beatles their drummer and Molly signed her contract, the band held their first official meeting. As it said in the contract, Molly and the rest of the band were moving into houses closer to Abbey Road Studios so they could come and go as they needed. They'd find out where they were living at this meeting, and would move in directly after it finished. At her family's home in Liverpool, Molly was busy packing for her move.

Her fourteen-year-old sister, Florence, sat on Molly's bed, absentmindedly twirling her blonde hair as she watched her sister pack.

"So, you're going to be in this band, yeah?" Florence asked.

"Aye," Molly said, attempting to fold a dress.

"And you're going to be incredibly famous, right?"

"That's the plan," Molly said, knitting her eyebrows together as yet another dress refused to fold.

"Could I design your dresses when you're famous?" Florence asked.

Molly, who finally folded her last dress, moved on to shirts. Fed up with folding, she took the drawer out of the dresser and dumped the shirts into a suitcase.

"Can I, Mol?" Florence repeated, "They'll be real gear. I promise."

"You design dresses now?" Molly asked with a laugh.

Florence nodded.

"Tell you what. If I become rich and famous, you can design all me dresses," Molly said.

"Really?" Florence asked, her blue eyes glowing with delight.

"Why not?" Molly said, "Now, are you going to help me pack or what?"

Florence slid off of the bed and opened one of Molly's drawers. She grabbed a pair of pants and began to fold.

"Mum's real upset that you're leaving, y'know," Florence said.

"Yeah. What was it she said? I shouldn't tramp around with hooligans and hell raisers?" Molly laughed, "Or that I'm a bad influence on you because I'll never get a 'real job?'"

"If you were going to influence me, the damage's already done," Florence said, cracking a grin which faltered a little as she added, "I'll miss you, though."

"Well, we can't all live at Mum and Dad's forever, can we?" Molly said as she packed the last of her clothes, "Besides, you'll have your own room for the first time. That'll be nice, won't it?"

"Yeah," Florence said with a smile, though it was visibly smaller than before. "What time does your train leave?"

"About half an hour from now. We can make it if we walk," Molly said.

"But what about Mum and Dad?"

"I said my goodbyes yesterday. They'll be fine," Molly said, "C'mon. Let's go."

The sisters arrived at Meriwether Station with suitcases in tow and ten minutes to spare. Molly had already bought her ticket and was sitting with Florence when she saw one of her band mates.

"Oi!" she called, waving him over.

He looked around, as if making sure she was talking to him, before walking over.

"What's his name?" Molly whispered to Florence.

"Looks like a Jeff to me," she answered, "Maybe a Henry."

"Good morning, er, Jeff, is it?" Molly called cheerfully.

"George," he corrected.

"Right, George. Sorry. I do pretty well with remembering faces. Not so much with names," Molly explained.

George simply nodded. After his remark on the day of Molly's audition, even the thought of his new band mate made him feel embarrassed; however, Molly didn't seem to notice. She continued jabbering on.

"Oh, this is me sister, Florence, by the way," Molly said, "I reckon I should introduce you two."

George nodded towards Florence as the train pulled in.

"I'll meet you in there, yeah?" he asked Molly.

"Sure," she said, "I'll be right in."

After George walked away, Florence wrapped her big sister in a hug.

"You promise you'll stay in touch?" she asked.

"'Course I will," Molly said.

"Don't have too much fun, okay?" Florence said.

"I should say the same to you!" Molly laughed, "I'll see you soon, okay, luv?"

Florence nodded and watched her sister climb in the train. She stayed at the station until the train was out of sight.

_What makes you think you're something special when you smile?_

"Where to next?" Molly asked as she took a seat across from George.

"Global domination?" George suggested with a raise of his eyebrow.

"I wish," Molly smiled, and focused her gaze out the window.

She watched contentedly as the Liverpool countryside, where she had spent her entire life, disappeared.

"Goodbye, Liverpool," Molly said.

"Good riddance," George added.

"What, you're not going to miss Liverpool?" Molly asked.

George, clearly taken aback, stumbled over his words.

"No, I mean… Liverpool's fine I guess, if you like places like Liverpool… I just mean I don't want to always live in Liverpool… forever."

"Relax," Molly laughed, "I was just teasing you. I'm not a big Liverpool fan me self. The only thing worth staying for is Florence."

"Your sister?" George asked, his ears still burning red from his previous embarrassment.

"Aye."

"Is she your twin?" he asked earnestly.

"What?" Molly said, "No. People usually don't even think we're sisters! And besides, she's only fourteen."

"Well, how old are you then?" George asked incredulously.

"Nineteen, you git."

"Really?" George asked, "I could've sworn you weren't a day over fifteen!"

Molly narrowed her eyes at the man. "You're lying."

When George raised an eyebrow, Molly continued, "Oh, come on. You're not that difficult to read, George."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," Molly said, "Right now, you're hiding something from me. It's on the tip of your tongue, and you really want to tell me, but you can't. I can tell all that just by looking at your face."

George could only sputter a response.

"But… how?

"You must wear your heart on your sleeve and, apparently, your emotions on your face," Molly smiled.

George shook his head slightly as Molly reached into one of her suitcases and pulled out a book.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Molly said, taking out the bookmark and beginning to read, "I'm not supposed to know, am I?"

Molly turned her full attention to her book while George continued to stare at this crazy girl who couldn't remember his name, but could read him like a book.

"The guys say they don't want a girl in the band," he admitted, his face slowly turning red, "They think you'll just bring 'em down in the end."

Molly looked George straight in the eye as she processed this. With a small shrug of her shoulders, she said, "I guess I'll have to prove them wrong."

_You can talk to me. You can talk to me._

George and Molly met the rest of the band and Brian outside of a house at noon that day.

"This is a nice place," Molly commented, "Who's living here?"

"What do you mean?" Brian asked confusedly, "You are. You all are."

Paul started whistling a tune, and George looked down at his shoes, his face slowly turning red. None of the Beatles looked her in the eye.

"Weren't you here when you picked out rooms?" Brian asked, "The guys were supposed to tell you about it."

"Oh," Molly said, her face suddenly a bit darker, "No, I… I must've forgotten. I've had to… er… baby-sit. That's it."

"We left you a room," George said.

"Yeah," Paul added, "Ringo didn't fill it with his excessive amounts of clothing."

"Thanks," Molly said half-heartedly, "I guess I'll put my stuff away, then."

Molly started making her way up the steps to the house when George said, "I'll go with you. To show you where everything is, and whatnot."

A smile grew on Molly's face. "Thanks."

As Molly and George entered the house, George began giving a tour.

"On this first floor, we've got a bathroom, kitchen, and what I think we're calling a 'whatever room,' and upstairs are all the bedrooms," George explained, and when they walked up the stairs, he continued, "The one on the left is Paul's, and across from that is John's, then I'm next door. Ringo's across the hall from me, and you're in between us."

"Are you sure this isn't a closet?" Molly asked as they walked into her room.

"It's not that bad," George said, "Only a little bit smaller than Paulie's."

"It'll be fine," Molly said, plopping her suitcases on her bed.

As Molly started unpacking, George said, "I'm sorry that we didn't tell you about picking out rooms."

"That's alright. I should've expected it, really, when you didn't have any suitcases or anything. It's called hazing, isn't it?" she asked, "I'll get over it, and they'll come around sometime."

"Yeah. Well, I really am sorry," George said.

"I know," Molly said. When he looked at her like she was crazy, she added, "George Harrison, I can read you like a paperback on a warm summer day."

George merely shook his head and left Molly to her packing.

"I'm going to be living with four guys," Molly laughed, "My mum's going to kill me."

_You can talk to me._

_If you're lonely, you can talk to me._

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><p>AN: Well, there's another chapter. It's not my favorite, really, but that's okay. It moves the story along nicely. I apologize in advance if my updates get slower from here on out. I'm trying to get a new chapter out every week, but I started summer school recently and it may get a bit more difficult to do that while I'm in school. As always, your reviews would be very much appreciated! :-D<p> 


	4. Good Morning Good Morning

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.

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><p><strong>September 11<strong>**th****, 1962**

_Nothing has changed._

_It's still the same._

Three weeks after moving into the Beatle House, Molly was woken up by the sound of the phone ringing. Even though it was downstairs in the Whatever Room, the noise shot through the entire house, giving Molly a headache. She threw her pillow over her head to drown out the noise, hoping that one of the boys would get the phone, but on the second ring, John yelled,

"SOMEBODY GET THE FUCKING PHONE!"

Molly sighed and threw her pillow off of the bed.

"I've got it!" she yelled, jumping off of her bed and running downstairs in her pajamas.

She made it to the phone as it rang the third time, answering the phone with a frantic, "Hello, you've reached The Beatles! Molly speaking."

The person on the other end of the call launched into a seemingly endless sentence, leaving Molly flabbergasted in its wake.

"Who is this? Mum? Is that you?" Molly asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "Mum, it's seven o'clock in the morning. You can't just call – yes, I know I haven't called in a week. Well, you can't expect me to call you every day! I'm busy! You sure as hell don't call Gran everyday, so why should I call you? No, Mum, I didn't realize – it's not the boys' fault – yes, I'll watch my language."

Around this time, Ringo came downstairs to see what the commotion was. When he saw Molly, he raised his eyebrows, to which she replied with a roll of her eyes.

"It's me mum," she mouthed, and Ringo nodded in understanding before slinking off to the kitchen.

"Listen, Mum," Molly said, in a much more apologetic tone than before, "I'm sorry I didn't call. I know you're worried about me, and I promise I'll check in once in a while. But Mum, you can't… Mum, you just can't call people at seven o'clock in the morning! You nearly woke up the whole house!"

"I reckon it's just me," Ringo shouted from the other room.

"Mum, you woke up _Ringo_," Molly corrected with a scowl, "Alright. Yes. I love you too. Goodbye. Yes. Okay. Bye, Mum!"

Molly hung up the phone and joined Ringo at the kitchen table.

"She is impossible," Molly groaned, cradling her head in her hands.

"She doesn't seem that bad," Ringo said between bites of his cereal.

"The woman barely talks to me for nineteen years, and then once I leave the house, it's as if she doesn't know how to live without me!" Molly said.

"At least you know now that she must've cared all along," Ringo offered.

Molly considered this, but then said, "Nah. She probably thought one of you killed me."

"D'you have to make so much noise?" Paul asked, stumbling into the kitchen.

"Good morning to you too, Paul," Molly said.

Paul slumped into a chair and glared at Molly with his half-opened eyes.

"Shut it," he mumbled, resting his head on the table.

"Oh, Ringo, look!" Molly giggled, "Paulie's got a hangover!"

"I feel like shit," Paul said, his voice muffled.

"You can't feel like that today, Paul," Ringo said, "We're recording!"

"Fu-"

"Would it kill you to keep your damn voices down?" John grumbled, joining the group in the kitchen.

"Make some coffee, would you, John?" Ringo asked.

"Make it yourself."

"But you're already standing," Ringo complained.

John quickly sat down. "No, I'm not."

"But John -"

"I'll get it," Molly sighed.

"Would you make me some eggs too, luv?" John asked.

"I'm not your fucking butler," Molly snapped.

"Watch your tongue, young lady," Ringo said in a voice that sounded eerily similar to Molly's mother.

"Ah, shut it," Molly said, "who wants coffee?"

"I do," John said, "And so does Ringo. What about you, Macca?"

Paul could only groan in response.

"So, four cups, then?" Molly asked.

"Three," Ringo said.

"Plus one," Molly corrected.

"Five," George said, walking into the kitchen and grabbing some cereal.

"Five?" Molly asked.

"Five," he repeated.

"Four!" Ringo yelled.

"Five," Molly said with a roll of her eyes.

"Would you all shut it?" Paul roared.

"I'm agreeing with Paul on this one," John said, "You lot are as annoying as hell."

"Do you want this coffee or not?" Molly snapped.

"Yes ma'am," John sneered, slinking back into his chair.

A silence settled over the room as the band waited for their coffee.

"So," Ringo said, "How's everyone feeling?"

His four band mates looked at him in annoyance. Molly rolled her eyes, but there was a slight smile on her face. Ringo held his hands up, as if he was surrendering.

"Just making conversation," he stated.

"Here's your damn coffee," Molly said, placing the boys' coffee cups on the table.

"I told you!" Ringo said proudly, "Look! Four!"

"Five," Molly said, sitting down next to Ringo with her cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal.

"Oh," Ringo said disappointedly, "Five."

"Who called this morning?" George asked.

"It was me mum," Molly sighed.

"Tell her not to do it again," John snapped, "She woke the whole house up."

"We needed to be up anyway," Molly said, "We have to be at the studio by ten. But she won't call this early anymore."

"We have to be there by ten?" Paul asked, lifting his head from the table.

"Aye," George said, "Brian said so yesterday."

"I don't remember a thing about yesterday," Paul said, running his hands through his hair.

"We can tell," John laughed, "Drink your coffee and feel better, already."

"What are we recording?" Paul asked.

"'Misery,' 'Please Please Me,' 'P.S I Love You,'" Molly said, counting off on her fingers every time she named a new song, "Just whatever we can, I guess. 'Love Me Do' definitely, because that's the single, yeah?"

"Of course it is!" John boomed, "Anything to give Tambourine Molly her big break through!"

Molly's face flushed a bright red. "Oh, sod off," she said, standing up from the table. As she put her bowl in the sink, she announced, "I'm going to get ready."

Ringo let out an audible sigh.

"What's the matter?" Molly asked.

"It's just that you take forever to get ready," Ringo complained, "We'd like to use the upstairs bathroom too, y'know."

"I'm a girl," Molly scoffed, "What do you expect?"

"We're just recording today," George said, "There's no need to look like a princess."

"Couldn't if she tried," John muttered.

Molly's look of annoyance turned into sheer anger as her eyes narrowed and she glared at John. "Fine!" she spat, standing up and storming upstairs, "You'll get your precious bathroom time."

"John," Paul sighed, "The first rule of being a man is to never, _ever_ insult how a bird looks."

"Molly's not just a bird; she's a Beatle," John said matter-of-factly, "I couldn't shag her if I wanted to."

"You're hopeless," Paul said, putting his head back on the table.

The table grew silent as the noise from upstairs became louder. Paul raised his head as a muffled "Shit!" came from the direction of the upstairs bathroom, followed by a thud and a door opening. The distinct sound of something being dragged across carpet reached the boys' ears, and finally there was silence.

"Maybe I should check on her," George said, standing up for the table.

John, Paul, and Ringo all nodded in agreement, their eyes as big as saucers.

"Molly?" George called, hesitantly making his way up the stairs.

"Yes?" she called nicely, stepping out from her room.

"Is…" George stopped, puzzled by Molly's pleasant demeanor, "Is everything all right?"

"Of course!" Molly said, smiling sweetly, "And don't worry. I won't be hogging the bathroom anymore."

"Uh, okay," George said, completely perplexed.

Molly slipped back into her room, and George returned to the kitchen.

"What happened?" Ringo asked.

"She's done with the bathroom," George said, still hopelessly confused.

"Good," John said, "I'm taking a shower."

John walked upstairs, and Ringo chuckled.

"What?" George asked.

Ringo shook his head. "Molly's a strange bird."

"Got that right," Paul mumbled.

Suddenly, John's voice roared from the upstairs bathroom.

"MOLLY!"

Ringo, George, and Paul ran upstairs to see what was wrong, and found a raging John.

"Yes?" Molly asked, the smile still plastered to her face.

"Where the hell is the mirror?" John hissed.

The other three boys peered into the bathroom, and sure enough, the mirror that was previously hanging on the wall was missing.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Molly said.

"The mirror is gone!" John yelled.

Molly looked into the bathroom. "So it is."

"Where'd you put it?" John asked.

"Are you implying that I stole the mirror?" Molly asked, "I assure you, John, I'd never do such a thing."

John was practically foaming at the mouth; he was livid. "You fucking bitc-"

"Okay, okay," Paul said, "Let's think about this. The bathroom mirror is gone, and Molly was the only person up here when it happened. What would be the logical explanation for this?"

"I didn't take it," Molly insisted.

"Maybe someone came in and stole it?" Ringo suggested.

"Shut it, Ringo," Paul said, "Molly, where'd you put the mirror?"

"Aw, Paulie," Molly said, batting her eyelashes, "Do you really think I took it?"

"Screw it!" John yelled, "I'll go downstairs! I don't need that bloody mirror."

Paul rolled his eyes and walked to his room, presumably to sleep off his hangover for an hour, while Ringo went downstairs to finish his breakfast. With a wink, Molly opened her door, and George caught a glimpse of his reflection staring back before she disappeared into her room.

_I've got nothing to say,_

_But it's okay._

"Stop!" John yelled, "Stop it!"

"What is it now?" Ringo groaned, dropping his drumsticks onto a cymbal.

"Paul, can't you play the fucking bass?" John yelled.

"Well, I would, if you could sing the right notes!" Paul screamed back.

"What take is this?" Molly asked George, sitting next to him on his amp as John and Paul continued to argue.

"Twelve," George sighed.

"This is the last song, right?" Molly asked.

George shook his head. "We've still got 'Twist and Shout' after this."

"Of course we do." Molly rolled her eyes. "Oi! McCartney, Lennon! What's your bloody problem?"

"I've got the chords switched around," Paul grumbled, "Let's try it one more time."

Molly stood up and grabbed her tambourine while John grabbed his harmonica.

"One, two, three, four!" Paul shouted, and John started his harmonica solo.

Ringo sprang to life on the drums, George played the guitar better than he had ever done before, and Molly whacked the tambourine with all of her might. Paul's face grew into a giant smile as he and John began to sing, "Love, love me do. You know I love you. I'll always be true, so please, love me do."

The five Beatles looked around at each other with smiles on their faces as they realized the same thing: this take was perfect. This discovery only made them play even better, so by the time John was hitting the last notes on his harmonica and Paul was singing, "Love me do," for the last time, the whole band was tired.

"Yeah!" George yelled, "That was great!"

Paul chuckled, and George Martin's voice came into the room.

"That was excellent," he said, "Now, let's finish this up so we can go home."

"What've we got left to do?" Ringo asked.

"'Twist and Shout,'" Paul said, "We've finished all of our songs, you've sang yours, and George sang his, so that's the only one left, right?"

"George and Ringo get to sing their own songs," Molly repeated.

"Yeah," Paul said.

"Do I get to sing anything?" Molly asked.

"No," John said immediately.

"Why not?" she asked, "If George and Ringo get to sing, I don't see why I shouldn't be able to."

"If you sing," John said, looking straight into her eyes, "who would we get to play the tambourine?"

"Oh, sod off," Molly scowled, "I don't even play the tambourine for this one."

"You still can't sing," John said.

"Why not?" Molly asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"Because-," John started, but was interrupted by George.

"Shut it, both of you," he said, "What time is it?"

"It's about twelve thirty," Ringo said.

"In the morning?" Molly asked, "We've been here that long?"

"Apparently," Ringo said.

"And we're not going home until we finish. So can we get a move on, please?" Paul asked.

"Fine," Molly grumbled, picking up her guitar, "But I still think I should get to sing."

"You've got backup vocals, now shut it," John said, "Are we going to do this or not?"

Molly adjusted her guitar on her shoulder and glared at John. "Fine. Whatever."

"One, two, three," Ringo said, and George launched into the intro.

Paul, George, and Molly were crowded around the same microphone, and there was barely enough room for their three guitars. One measure into the song, Molly absentmindedly hummed a note that she felt worked well with the chord. Paul and George's eyes bugged out of their sockets, and Molly dropped her mouth open in shock. She had no time to react to this however, because John was already finished with his first line.

"Shake it up, baby," George, Paul, and Molly sang into the microphone.

Molly was a little miffed that she was singing the same notes as Paul, but after her little humming solo, she decided it'd be best not to mention it. George started his guitar solo near the end of the song, with Paul and Molly backing him up. John let out a wail, and they repeated, "Shake it, shake it, shake it baby, now," until they ended the song triumphantly. Ringo let out a "Hey!" just as he finished, and they all smiled. Molly's humming solo was forgotten in the midst of the pride they felt because, as Paul pointed out,

"We finished a whole fucking record!"

John shook his head. "Again," he whispered, his voice incredibly hoarse, "I didn't like it."

"John, that was fab!" George said, "What are you talking about?"

John just shook his head. "Again."

"You can barely talk," Molly pointed out, "We can't do a second take."

John started to protest, but was cut off by George Martin.

"Perfect," George Martin's voice cooed from behind the glass, "That's a wrap for today."

"But we're not going home yet," John croaked, his voice gaining a little more strength, "We're going out tonight, boys! And Molly, I guess."

"Ah, c'mon, Johnny. It's one o'clock in the morning," Ringo groaned, "I'd like to get some sleep, y'know."

"But one o'clock is when Beatles come out to play!" John said, laughing like a mad man, "We've got to take London by storm! Party the way only Beatles can!"

"I did that last night, thanks," Paul said.

"Ah, but not with us, Paulie," John said, smiling.

"Not tonight, John," Ringo started complaining.

"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer," John said, "We're going."

Molly looked from John to George, who merely shrugged his shoulders. His face clearly said, "Why not?"

"C'mon," Molly said hesitantly, "It can't be that bad."

"Molly's got the idea!" John said, "Now finish packing up your instruments and we'll go."

Ringo and Paul began to protest, but John cut them off by saying, "You do remember who owns the car."

Backed up by a glare from Ringo, Paul sighed and said, "Fine. Whatever."

A huge grin stretched from ear to ear on John's face. "Gear."

_Good morning, good morning!_

_Good morning, good morning!_

* * *

><p>AN: Yay, another chapter! I'm actually surprised I was able to get this out with summer school going on and whatnot. Curse my schedule for being too full during the year. :-P Anyways, the story... right. I'd say this chapter's a bit more... fun than the others, I guess? I don't know. Your feedback would be very much appreciated! Thanks for reading!<p> 


	5. Little Child

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

><p><strong>September 12<strong>**th****, 1962**

_Little child, little child,_

_Little child, won't you dance with me?_

_I'm so sad and lonely. _

_Baby, take a chance with me._

Three hours after the recording session ended, Molly decided that going out with the boys was not the best idea. Immediately after arriving at the bar, Ringo, Paul, and George disappeared, leaving Molly and John together. Unfortunately, John decided to spend his time getting drunk as quickly as possible, and since Molly could find no one to talk to in the entire place, she appointed herself John's official babysitter. Though she had a few drinks herself, the majority of her time was spent listening to the band that was playing and making sure John didn't do anything too stupid.

"Tambourine Molly!" John cried as loud as he could; his voice was still strained from 'Twist and Shout.'

He staggered over to Molly with drink in hand, and she could tell he was making a conscious effort not to sway where he stood.

"Tambourine Molly plays the tambourine," he explained to anyone who was listening, "She plays the tambourine so well – so _fucking_ well – it makes angels cry."

"John," Molly said sharply, "stop talking."

He ignored her and started climbing onto a table.

"Tambourine Molly makes the angels cry heavenly tears of joy!" John roared from on top of the table.

"John! You're drunk!" Molly said, "We need to go home."

John laughed like a maniac. "You'll never take me alive!"

Molly looked around the bar for any sign of the other boys. Ringo was dancing with a girl he met, Paul was talking with a group of girls over by the stage, and George was nowhere to be found.

"Typical," Molly hissed, and looked up at John, who was now playing air-guitar to the music.

"C'mon, John. Let's get you down," Molly said, attempting to get John off of the table.

He wouldn't budge.

"I'm not kidding, Lennon," she said sharply.

"Here, let me help," a man's voice said.

His accent was distinctly Liverpudlian compared to the London accents that filled the bar, so Molly assumed it was one of her band members come to the rescue, most likely George, as she could see that Paul and Ringo were still occupied. He helped her get John off the table and carry him outside, where they could still hear the band. It was only then that Molly realized that she didn't know who he was.

"Oh!" Molly said as she wrapped John's arm around her shoulder, "I thought you were George."

"Not exactly," he said, flashing a smile, "I'm Desmond. Desmond Jones."

"My name's Molly Wade," she said, returning his smile with a soft one of her own.

"John Lennon!" John barked in a half-hearted attempt to make sure the pair hadn't forgotten about him.

"Right," Molly said, "Thank you for helping with him, Desmond. Seems like none of my band mates could be bothered," she added with a roll of her eyes.

"You're in a band?" Desmond asked.

"Yeah, The Beatles," she said, "We came here after we finished recording, and I can't find any of the others."

"I thought he looked familiar!" Desmond exclaimed, "I saw The Beatles at the Cavern Club back in Liverpool, though I don't remember seeing you there."

"Nah, I never played the Cavern with them," Molly said, "I just joined recently."

"I thought so," Desmond said, "I didn't think I'd forget a face as beautiful as yours."

"Oh," Molly squeaked, her cheeks turning bright red.

John reached out and tugged on Desmond's sleeve. "Molly plays the tambourine, y'know."

"So I've heard," he said with a chuckle.

After a short silence, Molly asked, "You've been to Liverpool, then?"

"Born and raised," Desmond said proudly.

"I knew that," John boasted, "You sound like a bloody git, just like the rest of us!"

"I really should get him home," Molly groaned.

"Why don't you call him a cab?" Desmond suggested.

"He probably wouldn't be able to get in the house," she said, "He obviously can't drive, and I can't drive him myself because the boys will need the car to get home."

"You could -"

"There you are!" a voice exclaimed from the entrance.

Molly and Desmond turned to see Paul standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Paulie!" John yelled.

"Sorry," Paul said with a smirk, "Was I interrupting something?"

"No, that's alright," Molly said, "Desmond, this is Paul McCartney. Paul, this is Desmond Jones. Desmond helped me with John, because _someone_ was too busy."

"Ah," Paul said with a chuckle, "That George is bad news, I agree."

With a small smile and a shake of her head, Molly said, "We need to leave. John's turned into a drunken idiot."

"Alright. I'll get George and Ringo," Paul said, running back into the bar.

"If you weren't so ready to leave," Desmond said, "I'd ask if you'd like to dance."

"I would've said yes," Molly said, "If only we met before John decided to turn into a buffoon."

Desmond shrugged. "Life goes on."

"But we could've had time for a dance," she pointed out.

"I reckon we still do," he said, holding his hand out, "May I have this dance?"

When she raised her eyebrows, he continued, "Just until your friends get back. Please?"

She started to protest, but he said, "Think of it as a way to thank me for helping you."

"I think you should dance with him," John said decidedly, and detached himself from Molly. He sat against the wall and began waving his arms as if he was conducting the band inside the building.

"Alright," Molly said, "But only because we can still hear the music. I don't want anyone thinking I'm a loony."

Desmond smiled, and the pair began to dance outside the bar. Molly hadn't noticed before that Desmond was very handsome, but not in a way most guys from Liverpool were. His light coloring would stick out like a sore thumb in dark and dreary Liverpool. His eyes were a light blue, his hair a bright blond, and he had a smattering of freckles across his face. Her gaze strayed from his eyes to his lips, but she didn't realize that her lips had nearly touched his until John yelled,

"They're going to kiss!"

Molly immediately retracted, her face turning red.

"Don't stop because of me," John laughed.

"We've got to get you home," Molly said, obviously flustered, "Where is Paul?"

"Here, sorry," Paul said, stumbling through the door, dragging a sullen Ringo behind him.

"Where's George?"

"Relax," Paul said, "He's right here."

"Right," Molly said, as George walked out behind Ringo, "Sorry. Didn't see you there. Take him, will you?" she added, picking up John and throwing him at George.

John slumped in George's arms, and looked up at him with a devious grin. "'ello, Georgie."

"We're heading to the car," Paul said, "If you're not there in thirty seconds, we're leaving."

"I'll be there in a second," Molly said.

As the boys left, Desmond asked, "That's your band?"

"That's my band," she repeated, "and I apologize for John."

Desmond smiled. "He's a character."

"You should see him when he's sober," Molly laughed.

"I bet," Desmond said, "Will you meet me here again? To have a proper dance, I mean."

"Sure," Molly said, frantically searching through her purse to find a pen and paper to scribble her phone number on. "Actually," she said, her face starting to turn red again, "I can't give you my number. We agreed not to tell anyone our phone number besides our families. But I'll look you up in the phone directory, yeah?"

"Just call anytime," Desmond said with a smile, "I'll see you around, Molly."

"Goodbye, Desmond," Molly grinned before running after the rest of The Beatles.

"Tambourine Molly _kissed_ him!" John yelled as Molly joined him and Paul in the backseat of the car.

"I did not," Molly said with a roll of her eyes.

"Don't be such a prude, Tambourine Molly," John sneered.

"I am not a prude," Molly said, her voice becoming defensive, "I just didn't kiss him."

"When I saw that you and John had left, I thought that maybe you two went to have a more _private_ party, if you know what I mean," Paul said, "But you didn't even kiss this guy? I didn't realize you were so chaste, Molly."

"I would have kissed him if I wasn't so rudely interrupted," Molly said forcefully, "And you didn't need to worry about John and me. I won't be fooling around with any of you lot, thank you very much."

"Ah, I bet Paulie will change your mind," George called from the driver's seat, his eyes never leaving the road.

"I reckon he won't," Molly snapped.

"And your alternative is that guy?" Paul asked, "Really? That guy?"

"His name is Desmond, and he's very nice," she said with a pout, childishly crossing her arms across her chest.

"Sure, he's nice," Paul said, "But girls are starting to go crazy for The Beatles, and you're the lucky bird who gets to live with the lads. Instead of one of them, you choose this Desmond guy?"

"Nice to know you're modest," Molly grumbled, "What's wrong with Desmond?"

"Nothing, nothing," Paul said, failing to stifle a grin, "It's just that he's so…"

He couldn't finish his sentence before he burst into laughter.

"He's so what?" Molly asked curtly, causing Paul to laugh even harder.

"Short!" he cried between his laughs, "He's a bloody midget!"

"He's taller than me," Molly pointed out.

"Everyone's taller than you, luv," George said, joining in with Paul's laughter.

"Even Ringo's taller than you!" Paul snickered.

"Only by an inch or so," Molly said defensively, "And I'd say that Desmond's the same height as Ringo."

Paul and George laughed even harder.

"That's not saying much," Paul said.

"At least he had the decency to help me with Sir Drunkard over here!" Molly huffed.

"Hey!" John yelled, "That's Mister Sir Drunkard to you, kid!"

"He's going to have fun at the photo shoot," Paul said with a chuckle.

"What?" Ringo asked, joining the conversation from the passenger's seat, "What photo shoot?"

"The photo shoot for the album," George said, "Remember? Brian told us about it on our lunch break today."

At Ringo's incredulous look, he added, "Honestly, Rings, do you listen when Brian talks?"

"Does anybody?" Ringo answered.

"No!" John yelled before bursting into a laughing fit.

"Wow, a photo shoot," Molly said, "This is really happening, isn't it?"

"I was under the impression it was all imaginary," Ringo quipped.

"Oh, shut it. You know what I mean," Molly said, "Today, we're just some band from Liverpool. Tomorrow, we could be famous."

"You don't gain fame from a photo, luv," Paul said.

"Depends on what you're wearing," Ringo countered.

"Never mind," Molly sighed, "You're just a bunch of children underneath it all."

"Oh ho!" Paul laughed, "Look at Little Miss Nineteen-Year-Old! She's _so _mature! Much more mature than those of us in our twenties, isn't that right, Ringo?"

"Indubitably," Ringo said, sporting a posh accent.

"Fine," Molly said, grinning a bit, "But you can't honestly tell me you aren't excited for this photo shoot."

"Never said I wasn't," Paul said, "Did you, George?"

"No, I don't reckon I did. Did you, Ringo?"

"No, I didn't. Did you, John?"

John answered with a very loud snore.

"Typical," Ringo sighed.

"Good thing we're home," George said, pulling into the garage of the Beatle House.

"Thanks for volunteering to take him inside, Paulie," Ringo said quickly.

Before Paul knew what hit him, Ringo, George, and Molly ran into the house, leaving Paul in the car with a sleeping John.

"Damn it."

_When you're by my side,_

_You're the only one._

_Don't you run and hide,_

_Just come on!_

* * *

><p>AN: I'm sitting at my computer in my Beatles shirt to celebrate Ringo's birthday, and I'm super excited that I get to post this on his birthday! Yay, coincidence! So, did you recognize any new characters this chapter? Did anyone seem familiar to you? Hehehe... Yep. She's <em>that<em> Molly. But then again, this is a Beatles romance story, so what's Desmond doing here? This will all be explained in good time, my friend, all in good time. What I can answer is this: Will Molly stay true to her word that she won't become involved with any of her band mates? (Hint: The answer starts with "No" and ends with "She won't.") Like I said, this is a Beatles romance story. Since this AN is getting pretty long, I'll bid you adieu and thank you for reading. Please leave a review with your feedback, because I really do appreciate it! :-D (Happy Birthday Ringo Starr!)


	6. With A Little Help From My Friends

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.

* * *

><p><strong>September 12<strong>**th****, 1962**

_How do I feel at the end of the day?_

_(Are you sad because you're on your own?)_

"Thank goodness that's over!" Molly sighed, walking into the Whatever Room after a four hour photo shoot. She quickly kicked off her shoes and plopped down on a couch.

"That wasn't so bad," Paul said, taking a seat next to her.

George, cigarette in hand, fumbled in his pockets for a lighter. "It could've been much worse," he agreed.

"Yeah," Ringo smiled, "We've could've been wearing Molly's shoes!"

"They were very uncomfortable," Molly defended, but a smile was playing at her lips.

"We know," Paul stated, "You said so about fifty times."

"At least you've got a way to be taller," Ringo pouted, "Meanwhile, I'm stuck here on the ground."

"It's not being little you should worry about, Rings," George said, taking a drag of his cigarette, "It's your nose."

"It's really dreadful," Molly nodded, adding cheekily, "I don't know how you look at it without crying."

"How do you know?" Paul asked, "I bet that's what he does every night when we're all asleep. You cry to yourself, imagining what could've been if only your nose was small, isn't that right, Ringo?"

"Ah, sod off, the lot of you," Ringo said.

Molly chuckled and shook her head. "Would you give me a light, please, George?"

"You smoke?" Paul asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Occasionally," she replied, "I was trying to quit, but it's hard to do with you lot smoking like chimneys all the time."

"Sorry," George said, handing Molly a cigarette and lighting it for her.

Molly shrugged. "Life goes on," she said after a drag, "Besides, I've missed that."

"I'm shocked, Molly. You don't look the type," Ringo said.

"None of us do right now," she said, and after a skeptical look from George, she continued, "Well, look at us!"

Molly pointed at a mirror on the other side of the room. The reflection showed the four dressed as they were for their photo shoot: Paul, George, and Ringo wearing nice suits, and Molly in a black, sleeveless dress with a simple bow at the waist. Her hair was curled and styled half-up, half-down, her green eyes were made up to look almost larger than normal, and her lips were a pale pink. The boys looked spotless, with their hair sitting perfectly and their suits impeccably pressed.

"I don't know about you, but I've never looked this nice before," Molly said, "And if it weren't for the cigarettes, you boys would look like the kind of lads me mum's always trying to get me to go out with."

"Really? And what kind of lads are those?" Paul questioned.

"Respectable, well groomed," Molly laughed, "Pretty much the opposite of what you are."

"I resent that," Paul said.

"You would," George chuckled.

"You know, Molly, if you looked like this everyday, we wouldn't mind you hogging the bathroom so much," Ringo said.

Molly reached over and playfully punched the drummer's arm. "Shut it, Starr," she said with a smile.

"Save me, boys! She's trying to plan our wedding!" John yelled, throwing the front door open and bursting in the room.

"Your wedding?" Molly asked, her brows knitting in confusion.

"Cyn's a right basket case about it," John said, stealing a cigarette from George, "And Eppy won't have any of it. He wants me all to himself, I bet."

"Your _wedding_?" Molly repeated.

"Cyn thinks we should make sure our plans are 'finalized,' yelling about how we have to get married in the next couple of months or it'll be too late. I say we just go down to the courthouse to get it over with, and later rather than sooner," he barked.

"Hear, hear!" Ringo laughed.

"What is he talking about?" Molly asked, turning to face Paul.

"I believe he's talking about Cynthia," Paul said matter-of-factly.

"Who's that?" Molly blushed, feeling completely ignorant.

"His girlfriend, er… no. What do you call it? His fiancée."

"John's getting married?"

"He has to," Paul whispered to her, "They're having a baby in April."

"Really?" Molly asked incredulously, sneaking a glance at John, who was still complaining to Ringo.

"You didn't know that?" George asked thoughtfully after a long drag of his cigarette.

"You didn't know I smoke," Molly shrugged, "I'm the new kid. I get left out. It's the circle of life, really. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a pair of extremely comfortable pajamas upstairs, and they're calling me name. I'd like to change into them, if you don't mind," she added quickly before hurrying up the stairs.

John, who had been complaining about Cynthia and therefore hadn't been listening to the conversation, asked, "What's the matter with you, George? You've been awfully quiet."

"Why didn't you tell Molly about Cynthia?" he asked.

"Oh, that's it?" John laughed, "I reckon it's because she never asked."

"Neither did I," George said darkly, "and neither did Paul or Ringo. But you still told us."

"Well, you're me best mates, aren't you?" John sneered, "We're in a band together. We live together, for Christ's sake."

"So does Molly. She lives here, and she's a Beatle too, but she didn't know," George said, his voice beginning to escalate.

A smile started to spread across John's face. "I know what this is," he said, "You fancy her, don't you, Georgie?"

"No, actually, I don't," George said, "and that's _not_ what this is about. This is about how we've treated Molly. We've all been awful to her since the start."

"George, she stole the mirror from the bathroom," John said.

"Because you insulted her," Paul pointed out.

"I don't like her attitude," John scoffed, "She's a downright bitch sometimes."

"So are you," Ringo laughed.

"You can hardly blame her," George said, "John and I were rude to her the day she auditioned. None of us told her about moving in. Two weeks ago, John locked her out of the house. Last week, he took all of her left shoes. Yesterday, -"

"Come off it, Georgie, they're pranks. It's a vicious cycle of retaliation," John said.

"It doesn't look like she's doing much retaliating, mate," Ringo said, "Besides the mirror, that is."

"If it weren't for her, you'd most likely be stuck at some bar still," Paul said, "You probably wouldn't have made it home in one piece last night if it wasn't for Molly."

John, taken aback by this news, was silent.

"We've got to give her a chance, at least," Paul said, "We hardly know anything about her."

"We've been living with her for three weeks, and we just found out now that she smokes," Ringo said, "I bet she doesn't even know my name's not really Ringo."

"Give it the ol' Beatle try, John," Paul urged.

"I'm going to bed," John harrumphed, noisily making his way towards his bedroom.

"Bloody wankers," he grumbled, "Who do they think they are, pretending they're all high and mighty and better than I am?"

John was pulled from his ramblings by a sniffle coming from Molly's room. With Paul's words echoing in his mind, John found himself opening Molly's door.

"Are you alright?" he asked gruffly.

"Oh!" Molly said, jumping slightly, "Yeah. I'll be fine."

She quickly turned her face away from John, but not before he could notice that her eyes were unnaturally puffy and her mascara had made its way from her eyelashes to her cheeks.

"Congratulations on your engagement, by the way," Molly said, her voice starting to shake, "I would've said something about it before, but I didn't find out until just now, and… Oh, hell!"

Molly sat down on her bed and buried her face in her hands, her body shaking as she sobbed. Cautiously, John sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He placed an uncertain arm around her shoulders in an awkward attempt to be comforting.

"You hate me, don't you?" Molly cried, "I should've known from the first day. And then when I was locked out for two and a half hours, I should've guessed. I shouldn't have bothered with this. I'll get on the train in the morning, and I'll be on me way home."

"Molly," John interrupted, failing to suppress a laugh, "we don't hate you. Christ, if we hated you, we would've Pete Bested you by now!"

"You don't like me very much though," she sniffled, "I'm used to that. Back at home, I never had the same group of friends for long. After a while, they'd get bored with me and leave me out from all their parties and secrets and things. It happened all the time, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt still, you know?" She let out a sigh before adding, "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I guess I just hoped it'd be different this time, that's all."

"It's not that I don't like you," John said, "You're just an easy target. Kind of like Ringo's nose, or Ringo's height."

"At least you're honest," she said.

"But even with the fact that you're a girl, and you're the youngest, and you play the tambourine, all of which set you up for ridicule almost immediately," John said, "What I've really noticed is that you're a pretty girl who genuinely cares about her band, her music, and her fellow Beatles, for God knows what reason. You're extremely talented, and if you get on that train tomorrow morning, we'll be losing both a great musician and a great person."

"Do you mean that?" Molly sniffed.

"Wouldn't have said it otherwise," John said, "Now stop crying, will you?"

Molly giggled and wrapped John in a hug. "Thank you."

"Oh, get off me. I haven't gone soft, you know," John said, "I'm going to bed. G'night, Molly."

"Night, John," she smiled, and John quietly left the room.

Standing directly outside John's bedroom door, with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face, was Paul.

"So, John Lennon is a decent person after all?" he asked, "I'd never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Yeah, well," John said, pushing Paul aside, "Don't get used to it."

"What's next?" Paul smirked, "World peace?"

"I'm going to bed," John grumbled, slamming the door on Paul's still grinning face.

_No!_

_I get by with a little help from my friends._

* * *

><p>AN: First off, I'd like to apologize for being a week late. Summer school finally caught up with me, as well as a slight case of writer's block, and I wasn't able to finish this chapter on time. The good news is, summer school's over, so I should be able to update on time! Yay! I'd also like to apologize for this chapter. This chapter was not one of my favorites. I just wanted to show that John's not all horrible, I guess. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please review! Your feedback is always appreciated! :-D (Unrelated note: This is my last day to be sixteen, beautiful, and Ringo Starr's! Get it? Because his song is "You're Sixteen (You're Beautiful and You're Mine)"? Anyone? No? ... I thought it was clever.)<p> 


	7. Drive My Car

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.

* * *

><p><strong>October 9<strong>**th****, 1962**

_Baby, you can drive my car._

Ringo, George, and Molly were lazily sprawled across the Whatever Room on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon. George was lying on his stomach, absentmindedly flipping through a battered copy of last month's _Mersey Beat_, Molly was lounging on an armchair, twirling her hair as she watched the clock, and a red-faced Ringo was perched upside down on the couch, his head resting on the floor and his feet propped up where his head should be.

"And so he turns to the other two, and he says, 'I don't know about you, but where I come from, they'd recognize my _face_!'" Ringo howled, cracking up at his own joke.

"That wasn't funny," George sighed, "None of your jokes are funny."

"That was funny," Ringo defended.

George looked up from his magazine and asked Molly, "Was that funny?"

"No," she replied, her eyes flicking from the clock to George for a second.

"See?" George asked, returning to his magazine, "Not funny."

"Some of them are funny, right?" Ringo said, looking at Molly with sad eyes.

"Sure," she said, "Just not that one."

Ringo waggled his head with a victorious smirk on his face. "What about the one where-"

"No!" George yelled, "You've been telling these dumb jokes for an hour. No more jokes!"

"Ah, what's the matter? You're not afraid of a little joke, are you?" Ringo laughed, "Knock knock, Georgie!"

George shook his head. "I'm not going to say it."

"C'mon, George. It's just two words," Ringo pleaded.

"I've got two words for you, bucko," George mumbled, "and they're not 'who's there.'"

"Lighten up," Ringo chuckled, "Oi, Molly, knock knock!"

"Who's there?" she answered, and George slapped a hand to his head.

They never got to find out who was at the door, however, because at that moment the phone rang, and Molly leapt across the room, barely clearing George, to answer it.

"Hello, you've reached The Beatles! Molly speaking," she said, and was answered by squealing.

"Molly, I bought your record, and it's totally fab!"

George chuckled as Molly jerked the phone away from her ear. "Say hello to Florence for me," he said.

"Calm down and speak English," Molly laughed as she cautiously put her ear against the phone, "And George says 'hello.'"

"I went to NEMS music store on Friday, like you told me to, and I bought your forty five! I really like the A-side, "Love Me Do." It's gear," Florence said, calmer than before, though not by much.

"You really like it?" Molly smiled.

"Of course I do! I heard a couple of lads talking about it too, and they liked it as well. I told them that the girl in the band was me sister, and they didn't believe me. I set 'em right, though. And, wait a minute, Mol, you didn't tell me Mr. Epstein was your manager," Florence said, "I could've gotten discounts at his store!"

"Not with Eppy, you wouldn't," Molly laughed.

"It's worth a shot," Florence whined, "Oi, since you've been talking about these boys and I've only met you and George, let me put faces to the names. The one who's sitting down in front of you on the cover is George, right?"

"Yeah," Molly said, "And next to him is John. Ringo's standing next to me, and Paul's next to him, if it's the picture I think it is."

"Does Paul have big eyes and a babyish face?"

Had she been drinking anything, Molly would've done a spit take. "Oh yeah," she laughed, "That's what we call him, actually. Big-eyed, baby-faced Paulie."

Ringo roared with laughter, causing him to fall off of the couch.

"Wasn't the blood rushing to your head?" George asked.

"Yes," Ringo stated matter-of-factly, "Yes, it was."

"Tell me, Florence," Molly said, ignoring the two boys, "Has anything exciting happened in the land of Liddypol?"

"Nothing as exciting as what must be happening in London!" Florence said, "You've been living there for almost two months now, right? What've you been doing?"

"We've recorded an album, sat through a few photo shoots, including one this morning, actually, that was a right laugh. We've played various clubs around London, and sat around the house doing nothing. We do that a lot, actually. Once George, Paul, John, and I followed Ringo around for a few hours, playing our guitars and narrating everything he was doing in song," Molly said, "but other than that, we haven't done much. Trust me, I'd tell you if something happened."

"We've got an interview today," Ringo chimed in.

"Oh, yeah. We're doing an interview for a radio station today, so listen to 107.6 at six o'clock if you'd like," Molly said, "We're going out to dinner afterwards, actually, because it's John's birthday. It'll be me, John, George, Ringo, Paul, Eppy, and Cynthia. She's John's -"

Molly was interrupted by a throw pillow hitting her head, courtesy of George.

"We can't say anything about Cynthia!" he hissed.

"-sister," she finished, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"I can't wait!" Florence squealed, "My sister on the radio!"

"Yeah," Molly smiled, "Oi, Florence, can you buy our forty five for me? I'll pay you back, I promise."

"Sure," Florence said, "Oh, Mum's home! I'll talk to you later, Mol. Bye!"

"Bye, Florence," Molly said, hanging up the phone.

"What was that about?" Ringo asked.

"Oh, that was just Florence," Molly said, "If you haven't noticed, she calls every Tuesday after she gets home from school and before Mum gets home from work. It's the only way I can talk to her without having to talk to me Mum first."

"And what'd Miss Florence have to say this week?" George asked.

"She bought our record; thinks it's fab," Molly shrugged, "Other than that, nothing's new."

"Not much happens in Liverpool," Ringo said, "Go figure."

"I don't see why I can't tell Florence about John and Cynthia," Molly pouted.

"Eppy said not to tell anyone," George said.

"Yes, but she's _Florence_," Molly said, "I've told her everything since the day she was born."

"When you get married, you can tell her," George said, "but Eppy doesn't want John's being engaged to affect our record sales at all."

"I know," Molly sighed, moving back to her armchair, draping her legs over one arm and resting her back against the other.

"That interview's at six o'clock, right?" Ringo asked.

"Yes sir," Molly said, attempting to stifle a yawn, "We'll be on _The Daily Six O'clock with Ronnie Stock_!"

"Him?" George scoffed, "I hate listening to him. He thinks he's the best thing in the world, he does."

"At least it'll be better than hanging around here, doing nothing all day, right Molly?" Ringo asked.

"Hmm?" she asked, her sleepy eyes barely staying open, "Oh, right. Sure. I'm going to get some kip so I can be awake for this interview. I don't know how you boys have all this energy all the time. You're always raring to go whenever I get tired out. Wake me up before we leave, will you?"

George shared a sheepish look with Ringo and answered, "Sure."

"Gear," Molly muttered before drifting to sleep.

_Yes, I'm gonna be a star._

"You're listening to 107.6, Liverpool's hottest rock and roll mix. This is _The Daily Six O'clock with Ronnie Stock_, and I have the freshest band with me today, straight from our very own Cavern Club, The Beatles!" Ronnie Stock announced, his voice extremely charismatic in spite of the bored expression he wore, "In case you haven't heard of them yet, don't worry, folks, we'll be playing their song after we talk to them for a bit. So, if you'd like to go around and introduce yourselves, tell us what you do in the band, anything really, go ahead."

"Alright," John smirked, "Me name's John Lennon. I play rhythm guitar and mouth organ. Sometimes I even do vocals."

Ronnie Stock motioned for them to continue, so Paul said, "I'm Paul McCartney; I play bass guitar and I …sing? Yeah," he laughed, "That's it."

"Guess I'm next," George said, moving closer to the microphone, "George Harrison. Lead guitar."

"I'm Molly Wade. I play lead guitar sometimes. Most of the time, I play piano or the tambourine."

"Especially the tambourine," John interrupted.

"I'm Ringo. Ringo Starr. I'm the drummer. You know, keeping the beat, and such."

"Wonderful. John, Paul, George, Molly, and Ringo," Ronnie Stock repeated, "Now, George and Molly, you both said you were the lead guitars. Does that mean you're the leaders of the group?"

"No, I don't think the others would like that very much," Molly said.

"Lead guitar's a different type, you see, not like bass or rhythm. Rhythm sounds like ching-ching-ching, and bass is like buh-buh-buh. Lead's more like da-da-duh-da-da-da. You know?" George asked, his ears turning red as the other Beatles laughed and Ronnie Stock stared at him in horror.

"That's very accurate, George," Paul laughed.

"He's just trying to say that lead guitar's got nothing to do with being a leader; it just plays something different, that's all. Right, George?" Molly asked, still chuckling.

"Yeah," he said, his ears still red.

"Alright," a scared-looking Ronnie Stock said, "Which one of you is the leader, then?"

There was a moment of total cacophony as each Beatle said the name of another. After they finished laughing, Paul said, "I don't know if we have a leader, really. I guess it'd be John, seeing as he joined first and all."

"I see," Ronnie said, "John, is it true that you and Paul wrote both "Love Me Do" and "P.S. I Love You," which, if our listeners didn't know, are the A-side and B-side to you forty five in stores now?"

John narrowed his eyes and gave Ronnie an uninterested look. "Yes."

After a silence, Ronnie realized that John wasn't going to elaborate, so he asked, "Are you going to continue singing your own songs?"

"We have to, you see," Paul said, "No one else will."

As the Beatles laughed, Ronnie Stock rubbed his temples, his growing frustration evident on his face. "What do the other three do while John and Paul write songs?" he asked.

"We play marbles," George said, "Or mar poles."

"Ringo always wins at marbles," Molly explained, "and George is the best at marring poles. I'm rubbish at both, really."

"It's true, you know," Ringo said, "I've never seen anyone play marbles worse than Molly."

"Oi, Ringo!" John yelled, "I almost forgot you were here!"

"Well, I left and I came back," Ringo said, "But none of you noticed."

"Alright!" Ronnie Stock interrupted, his face burning red, "If it's the same to you folks, we'll just cut this interview short and play the song now."

"Oh, it's a real gear song," Molly said, "We've got no problem being cut off by it."

"Thanks for interviewing us, Mr. Stock," Paul said, "And for those of you listening at home, make sure to buy our record!"

"Yes, yes, yes, that's good and all," Ronnie Stock said, "Now, here's "Love Me Do" by that… _vivacious_ new group, The Beatles." He pressed a button, and the microphones shut off. "Get out of my studio," he growled.

The Beatles shuffled out one by one, Molly pausing to turn around and say, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Stock."

"Out!" he yelled, "Out! I never want you ragamuffins near me again! I've never seen such disrespectful miscreants in my life! Your careers are going nowhere, you hear me? Nowhere!"

Molly shut the door hurriedly, and found the other four standing outside the door, clearly crestfallen at Ronnie Stock's hateful words.

"I thought that interview went well," a downhearted Ringo said.

The Beatles stared at each other in silence, not knowing what to say. The interview, which they thought was going to be their big break, had bombed, and they knew it.

"We don't need him, boys," John said, "Because we're going somewhere, with or without Mr. Ronnie Stock's approval. And where are we going, fellas?"

"To the top, Johnny," Paul, George, Ringo, and Molly answered, smiles growing on their faces.

"Where's that?" John asked.

"To the toppermost of the poppermost!" they cheered.

"That's more like it!" John smiled.

"Boys," Brian said, approaching the group with a worried look on his face, "Ronnie Stock will be calling security on us if we don't get out of here immediately."

"To hell with him!" John cried.

"Yeah, to hell with him!" George echoed, "We don't need his hoity-toity type. Toppermost of the poppermost!"

"Yes, but you won't make it there if you're beaten by security guards," Brian said.

"I bet you'd like to be beaten by security guards, wouldn't you, Eppy?" John smirked.

Brian responded by grabbing John by the elbow and dragging him out of the building, with the other four Beatles following closely behind.

"You know, Eppy called you a boy back there," Paul said, "Shouldn't you be offended or something?"

Molly shrugged. "Used to it, I guess," she yawned, "Damn it! I took a kip, and I'm still tired. How do you boys do it?"

George and Ringo looked at each other, and then at Paul, who raised an eyebrow and tilted his head towards Molly. Ringo and George nodded, and Paul grabbed Molly's hand. "Here," he said, taking a pill from his pocket and closing her hand around it, "This'll make you feel better."

"What is it?" Molly asked.

"Just our friend Ellie," Ringo mused, "Elle the Prellie."

"You won't be tired after," George promised.

"I don't know," Molly started, but Paul interrupted by saying,

"You asked how we did it. That's how."

Molly stuck the pill in her pocket. "We'll see."

"Oi!" John said, turning around suddenly and yelling at his band mates, having just missed their conversation, "Stop your moping about! It's me birthday, and we're going to celebrate Beatle style!"

_Baby, you can drive my car._

"This is a posh place," George commented as The Beatles, along with Cynthia and Brian, marched into a restaurant in downtown London.

"Behave yourselves," Brian warned, "Please."

"Don't we always?" John said, batting his eyelashes.

"John, stop it," Cynthia said, patting him lightly on the arm.

"Oh yes, I'm sorry," John mocked, "I'll be good. Please don't cane me, Eppy!"

Cynthia rolled her eyes at her fiancé's antics. A waiter led the six to a table, where Molly sat in between Cynthia and Paul. Paul looked towards Molly and raised his eyebrows, but she refused to look him straight in the eye. Paul chuckled to himself, and Ringo frowned as he looked over the menu.

"Can't we get fish and chips at a place like this?" Ringo asked Brian.

"No," Brian sighed, "You can't."

"Why not?" George asked, "I'd fancy some fish and chips meself."

"You can't get fish and chips here," Brian said, "Order something else."

"They don't serve fish and chips here?" John asked, standing up, "I refuse to eat at an establishment like this! What place in a humane society such as ours doesn't serve fish and chips?"

"John, sit down!" Brian said, "You'll order something else!"

"It's my birthday, isn't it? I want fish and chips!" John yelled.

"John!" Cynthia cried, "Please! We don't want to cause a scene here, too! It's bad enough we got kicked out of the last restaurant we went to."

"Come 'ead, fellas. Let's get ourselves some fish and chips," John said, moving to walk away from the table.

"You come back here this instant, John Lennon!" Brian warned, "Or I'll tell them the truth about you."

John turned around sharply. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Brian smiled, "Sit."

A saddened John returned to his seat. "Spaghetti sounds gear."

"I still want fish and chips," George mumbled, only to be kicked under the table by Molly.

"Shut it," she said, "People are staring."

"Of course they are," Paul said, "We're incredibly good-looking, aren't we?"

At this comment, Molly started laughing hysterically. "I don't know why I'm laughing," she sputtered when she could get a breath, "It's not even that funny!"

Brian rolled his eyes. "Never again," he muttered, "I'm never going out in public with you lot ever again."

"I'm sorry," Molly wheezed, "I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise."

"So, Molly," Cynthia said, "It's nice to finally meet you. John's told me all about you."

"Nothing good, I bet," Molly muttered.

"You play the tambourine, don't you?" she asked.

"C'mon, John," Molly laughed, "You've lived with me for two months, and that's the best you can do?"

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Cynthia asked, "You're living with them?"

"Yeah," Molly said, "All of The Beatles under one roof."

"You didn't tell me she was living with you, John," Cynthia said, her typically sweet voice turning cold.

"I said I was living with the band," John defended, "She's part of the band."

"But living with her is different than living with Paul or George," Cynthia said, "Don't you think it's a bit improper for a girl to live with someone else's fiancé, and three other lads on top of that?"

"What are you implying?" Molly asked.

"She's not implying anything," Paul said, trying to diffuse the tension, "Right, Cyn?"

"I'm just saying I'm uncomfortable with her living with John," Cynthia said, "You can't blame me."

John scoffed. "You're worried about me and Tambourine Molly?"

"There's nothing to worry about, because Molly's dating Ringo!" Paul blurted out, "See? Everything's fixed!"

"What?" Molly and Ringo said simultaneously.

"Are you telling me," Brian started, his face turning red and a vein becoming visible in his forehead, "that there's another relationship we have to hide from the press?"

"No," a confused Ringo said, "Molly and I aren't going together."

"But Paul just said you were," Cynthia countered.

"Anymore!" Molly said, sharing a glance with Paul, "Ringo and I aren't going together anymore. We just broke up, you see."

"Oh," Cynthia frowned, "I'm so sorry."

"It's not a big deal," Molly said, "We're completely over it."

"Yeah," George laughed, "It's almost like it never even happened!"

George, Ringo, and Molly all started barking with laughter as Paul hid his face in his hands. Brian muttered obscenities under his breath, while Cynthia turned to John and said, "That can't be a healthy way to handle a break up at all."

The group spent their dinner goofing off and almost causing Brian to pull out his hair in aggravation. Cynthia was being overly sympathetic towards Molly about her "break up" with Ringo, which everyone found hysterical, much to Cynthia's chagrin.

"Oh, John! I almost forgot!" Molly cried, fishing around in her purse, "I bought you a present!"

She handed him a box, which he quickly unwrapped to find a black fisherman's hat.

"I saw it and thought you might like it," Molly explained.

"Gear," John said, putting it on and batting his eyes, "I'll never take it off."

"Oh, shut it, Lennon," Molly scoffed.

"What do we do now that our fancy dinner's over?" George asked.

"What do Beatles do best?" John asked, "Go to clubs!"

"Not so fast, Johnny," Paul said, "You've got a fiancé."

"No, that sounds like a good idea," Cynthia said, "I'd love to go dancing."

"Then out we go!" Paul said.

"You sure you aren't too tired, Molly?" George smirked.

"I feel fab," Molly said, "Now are we going or not?"

As the Beatles left the restaurant whooping like animals, Brian was left to pay the bill.

"Just don't get arrested!" he yelled after them, hanging his head in shame. "What have I unleashed on the poor world?"

_And maybe I'll love you._

"Can I ask you a question?" Molly slurred, stumbling into Paul at the bar they had visited after their recording session a month ago, "Back at dinner, what was that, two hours ago? Three? I don't remember. Anyroad! Why the hell did you tell Ringo that Cynthia and I… No. Wrong. Why the hell did you tell Cynthia that Ringo and I were dating?"

"Have you had enough to drink, Molly?" Paul asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

"I've only had one glass of wine," she protested, "And maybe four or five or six beers. Maybe seven. But that's not important. You're lodging the question, Paulie."

"I'm lodging it?" he asked, clearly amused at Molly's drunkenness.

"No. Dodging. You're dodging the question," she said, "And you're doing it again! Answer the question, Paul."

"There's not much to say," Paul said, "I didn't want Cynthia to get upset. God knows John puts her through enough already."

"Oh," Molly said, "Okay. I get it."

"Really?" Paul asked, "You're not mad?"

"Nah," Molly said, "I'm trying something new. I call it living. 'Cause, you know, I say 'life goes on' all the time, but really, I live in the past. Now I'm taking things as they come, because the past is the past. You know?"

"That's profound," Paul said, "especially coming from someone as inebriated as you are."

"Ta," Molly said, taking another drink.

"Molly?" a voice asked from behind the pair.

"Oi, Des!" Molly cried, "Long time, no see!"

"Yeah, it's been about two weeks since we went out together," Desmond said, "I thought you forgot about me."

"I've been meaning to talk to you," Molly said, "Did you hear my speech about my new philosophy? It's called living."

"I heard," Desmond laughed.

"Good. So I don't have to explain it again," she said, "I really like you, Des, but a relationship wouldn't work between us. I like you too much, and I'd probably hurt you in the end, and I don't want to hurt you. You're like an otter! I really like otters. I don't want to hurt any otters. Anyroad, before I adopted my new policy of living, I'd stick it out through the relationship, even though I'd know it'd fail in the end. Now, I'm sparing the both of us!"

When Desmond was silent, she added, "Still, I really like you. A lot. And I think we can be great friends. Because you're one of a kind, Desmond Jones. You're an otter! You don't meet otter-like people everyday. I don't want to lose my otter."

"You really feel that way?" Desmond asked.

"Yeah," Molly said, "It's my personal belief that drunken people don't lie. I'd know this, because I'm drunk."

"That's a relief!" Desmond laughed, "Not about the drunk thing. About the friend thing. I was feeling the same way."

"Really?" Molly asked, her face lighting up, "You mean it?"

"Of course!" Desmond said, "I just didn't know how to tell you. Thank goodness for living, right?"

"Yeah," Molly said, "And we'll be friends still, right?"

"Of course! You'll need a normal friend when The Beatles are famous," Desmond smiled.

"Gear!" Molly shouted, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to tell Ringo about my new philosophy."

As Molly staggered away, Desmond ordered another drink. Paul, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation, said, "You're lying."

"I'm sorry?" Desmond asked, turning to face Paul.

"I know that face. I've worn it many times meself," Paul said, "You really like Molly, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Desmond says, "but when she tells you something like that, you can't really do anything about it, can you?"

Paul shrugged. "You tell me."

"There's just something about her, you know?" Desmond asked, "She's the kind of person who comes into your life, and you know they need to stay there."

"Yeah," Paul said, staring off towards the dance floor where he saw a blonde woman dancing with her fiancé, "I think I know the kind of person you're talking about."

"And if that means I can only be her friend, then sure. I'll be her friend. It's better than nothing, and who knows? The friend might win in the end," Desmond said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself rather than Paul.

"For the both of us, I hope you're right," Paul said.

Cynthia turned and saw Paul looking at her. She offered him a slight smile and a wave, which he answered with a wink. John noticed, and waggled his fingers at Paul.

With an attempt to wipe the sneer off of his face, Paul said, "In the meantime, I know how to forget about those kinds of people."

"Really?" Desmond asked, "How's that?"

"Spending time with someone else," Paul said, making his way towards a redhead who had been lusting after him the entire night.

_Beep beep, beep beep,_

_Yeah!_

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><p>AN: So much for updating on time. Sorry, guys! To make up for the lateness, I bring you a super long chapter! Where some controversial stuff happens... or doesn't. That's really up to your interpretation. I'll just say this about it: To provide some sort of almost accurate fiction about The Beatles, it had to be done. That didn't make sense. Sorry. It's two thirty in the morning, and I need to get to bed. So! Thoughts on this chapter? I'd really like to know what you think! Tell me in a review, if you'd like! :-D Thanks for reading!<p>

And a special thanks to Victoria Harrison and Loree18, who have both reviewed almost, if not every, chapter so far! It really means a lot to me that you guys are enjoying this! :-D


	8. Words of Love

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.

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><p><strong>October 10<strong>**th****, 1962**

_Hold me close, and tell me how you feel._

_Tell me love is real._

When Molly woke up the next morning, everything was incredibly foggy. Her head felt as if it weighed four hundred pounds, and though she tried, she couldn't get back to sleep because of her throbbing headache. She slowly crawled out of bed, trying to remember how she got there, and nearly ran into Paul outside of her bedroom door.

"Shit!" she muttered, "Sorry, Paul."

"It's alright," he chuckled, barely awake himself.

"Stop screaming," she moaned, holding her head, "Do you know if we have any aspirin?"

"I dunno," Paul said, "It'd be in the kitchen, wouldn't it? I'm going down for some breakkie anyway. You can join me."

"No thanks," Molly said, "I'm just getting my aspirin and going back to bed."

When the pair entered the kitchen, Paul froze in the doorway, but Molly stumbled across the room, not realizing that Paul had stopped. As she sifted through the various items in the cabinet, Paul, in a completely flat tone, said, "I didn't think you were still here."

"What're you talking about? Of course I'm still here," Molly said, turning around and finding a petite redhead sitting at the kitchen table.

"Oh," Molly said, aptly summarizing the feelings of the three people in the room.

"Gosh," the girl said, her face flushing, "I didn't know you had a girlfriend!"

Molly looked from the girl to a flabbergasted Paul, and a smile tugged at her lips. In her best attempt to sound angry, she asked, "Paul, who is this?"

With one look at Molly, Paul knew what was going on. "She's no one, honey," Paul said, rushing to Molly's side and wrapping an arm around her waist, "She means nothing. I don't even know her name, honest!"

"I mean nothing to you?" the girl asked, standing up, "That isn't what you said last night! You bastard!"

She grabbed a teacup and threw it at Paul and Molly, who ducked before it hit them. The girl stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

Paul removed his arm from Molly's waist and let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you for that," he said, "I honestly thought she left already."

"The awkward morning after," Molly chuckled, resuming her search for aspirin, "We've all been there."

"Even you?" Paul asked with a raise of his eyebrows.

She shrugged. "Growing up in Liverpool, it's not exactly uncommon, is it?"

Paul nodded slightly. "Either way, I owe you," he said, "Really."

"Would you mind making some coffee, then?" she asked, closing from the cabinet and starting to search the counter.

"I thought you were going back to bed," Paul stated.

"I can't sleep after that. In one day, I've been the girlfriend of both you and Ringo. I'd have nightmares."

"Ah, it can't be that bad. Sure, Ringo's got a large neb, but he's loveable underneath it, really," Paul said.

"I was talking about you," she said.

"I resent that," Paul said, pouring two cups of coffee and handing one to Molly, who was on the ground, looking under the stove.

"Ta," she said, moving to a sitting position and leaning against the stove.

"You're going to stay there?" Paul asked.

"I don't think I can stand up," she said.

"Then I'll join you," Paul said, sitting next to her.

"You know what'd be really nice right now?" Molly mumbled, "A ham sandwich with HP Sauce."

"What's that?" Paul asked, scrunching his forehead in confusion.

"HP Sauce?" Molly asked, "How do not know what HP Sauce is?"

Paul shook his head. "I've never heard of it before."

"Then I know what we're doing today," Molly said, "We're out of aspirin, and we have no HP Sauce. We're going shopping."

"My three least favorite words," Paul groaned.

"No, it'll be fun!" Molly said, "All five of us can go. Actually, now that I mention it, where are they?"

"John spent the night at Cynthia's," Paul said, his voice laced with contempt, "And I reckon George and Ringo are still sleeping. It's only nine o'clock, you know."

"Well, I guess we can let them sleep. If they had half the night I did, they're in for a rough morning," she sighed, "Tell me. Did I really compare Des to an otter?"

Paul nodded, and chuckled as Molly groaned.

"I guess it's for the best," she said after a minute, "You don't think I was too harsh, do you?'

"Could've been worse," Paul shrugged, "Anyroad, he told you he agreed with you."

"Yeah," Molly said, soothed by the thought of not hurting Desmond.

"I meant what I said, you know," she said, "About living, that is. So I told Des he was an otter? Life goes on. So I made a drunken fool of myself last night? Life goes on."

"So you have a massive hangover and nothing to dim it with?" Paul interrupted.

"Then you go out and buy some painkillers," she answered, "And then life goes on. Speaking of which, I need aspirin and I need it now."

Molly pulled herself from the floor and filled a glass with water. She crept up the stairs, Paul following behind with an amused look on his face. Carefully, she pushed open the door to George's room. Molly and Paul slowly snuck across the room to George's bed, where George was sleeping, remaining completely oblivious to the scheming pair. After sharing a grin with Paul, Molly emptied the entire glass on poor George's face, leaving George shouting profanities and Paul and Molly in fits of laughter.

"Fuck!" George cried, sitting straight up, "What the hell was that?"

"We're out of aspirin and HP Sauce," Molly said seriously, though Paul was still in hysterics.

"You had to dump the Atlantic Ocean on me because of some fucking sauce?" George spat.

"Well, sorry about that, but it had to be done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to wake up Ringo," Molly said, scampering across the hall, where she poked Ringo's forehead until he woke up.

"Wake up, beautiful," she said when Ringo reluctantly opened his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, "It's too early to get up!"

"We've got to go grocery shopping," she explained, "We're out of aspirin and HP Sauce."

"HP Sauce, you say?" Ringo asked, "That's alright, then."

"You're much more reasonable than George," Molly said happily.

"You didn't empty a bucket of water on his head!" George cried from across the hall.

Molly winced at the volume, but said, "I'll admit, that was a bit unnecessary, but you're overreacting. Getting up early every once in a while isn't exactly a bad thing, you know."

"She's just got a wicked hangover and needs some aspirin," Paul said, "That's the real reason."

"Thanks, Paulie," she muttered as a devious grin grew on George's face.

This did not go unnoticed by Molly, who said, "Whatever you're planning, Harrison, forget about it right now."

George shook his head. "I saved you from John. We're equals now, you see. I have my rights to retaliation."

"Haven't you ever heard of chivalry?" Molly asked.

"There's no chivalry for Beatles, Molly," Paul said/

"Unless you'd like to be the Beatlette," George added.

Molly narrowed her eyes at the laughing pair. "Bite me."

"Careful what you say, Mol," Paul said, "someone might take you seriously."

"'Specially Rings," George said, "He's still hung up on you, what with your relationship ending and all."

"Oh, ha ha ha. George Harrison, what a joker," she mocked, "D'you think John left his car here, by any chance?"

"Doubt it," Ringo said, emerging from his room, "John'd never trust us with his car."

"I don't blame him," Molly shrugged, "Looks like we'll have to walk to the grocery, then."

"Have you gone soft?" Ringo asked, "This is London, not Liverpool. We'll get lost!"

"I don't even know where the grocery is," George added.

"You'll find it," Molly told him, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm, "There's food there. You'll be attracted to it like a moth to a flame."

"Or John to Bridgette Bardot," Paul added.

"Or… George to anything edible," Ringo said.

"See? We believe in you, buddy," Molly smiled.

"Really?" George smirked, raising his voice to an unnecessarily loud level, "Is that so, Molly? You really believe in me?"

Molly winced at the volume. "Come 'ead, you wankers. We've got groceries to buy."

The boys followed Molly down the stairs and out into the London streets laughing like mad men and singing, "Hangover, hangover! Molly's got a hangover!"

_Words of love you whisper soft and true._

_Darling, I love you._

Three hours and eight bags of groceries later, Molly, Paul, George, and Ringo found themselves on a dead end street.

"We've been walking around for two hours," George whined, "Where are we?"

"We're currently strolling through California," Paul snapped, "We're at a bloody dead end somewhere in London, George! Where d'you think we are?"

"I told you we'd get lost!" Ringo cried.

"Calm down, you lot," Molly said, feeling relieved after taking three aspirin, "We got here, and we can figure out how to get home too."

"Sorry, but I didn't bring the bread crumbs, Gretel. How are we getting home?" Paul sighed.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Molly said, "We passed a church a little while ago. They'd give us directions."

Ringo shook his head. "We've been walking for two hours. I'm done."

"Same here. I'll wait with you while George and Molly go to the church," Paul said.

George began to protest. "I'm not going to some daft church-"

"If you want to get home, you are," Molly said, "If I go alone, I might get even more lost, and we'd never make it back."

"Fine," George grumbled, handing his grocery bags to Paul, "If you lay a hand on my biscuits, I swear you'll never see another day, McCartney."

"He won't eat your biscuits, George," Molly laughed, "Come 'ead. I'd like to get home before dark, y'know."

She grabbed George by the arm and dragged him down the road as he glared daggers at Paul.

"Ah, come off it," she laughed, "If those damn biscuits mean so much to you, he won't eat 'em."

"How d'you know? Paul's unpredictable. I don't know what he's going to do half the time. You barely know him; you don't know what he's thinking," George pouted.

"Is that so?" Molly shrugged, "I think he's pretty predictable. Now, would you stop sulking and help me find this church?"

"Where was it?" George asked.

"Only a few blocks down, I think. Not too far," Molly said.

"And what if they don't want to help us?"

"It's a church, George. They have to help us."

"Oh. Right."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until George blurted out, "Why'd you join our band?"

Molly stopped dead in her tracks. "What?"

"Sorry!" he said, "That's not what I meant at all."

"Then what did you mean?" Molly asked, her voice growing slightly defensive.

"It's just been a question I've had for a while, you see. Most girls don't want to be in a band. I just wanted to know why you did, that's all," George said, "That's what I meant."

"Oh," Molly shrugged, "I've always liked music. It really started when I was little, and I used to sing to Florence all the time back when she was a baby. My dad bought me a guitar when I was ten, and I fell in love with it right away. I started with piano after that, wrote my first song when I was fifteen, and from then on I know I wanted to make music."

Molly chuckled a bit and added, "It also drove my mum mad that I left school for The Beatles."

"What were you going to school for?" George asked.

"Journalism," she said, "If I couldn't play the piano forever, I'd write instead."

George nodded, taking in the information.

"What about you?" she asked, "When'd you realize you wanted to join a band?"

"Got my first guitar at twelve, joined the band at fourteen," George shrugged, "It's the only thing I'm good at, really, and it's the only thing I've ever wanted to do. Otherwise I would've been an electrician, and I'm rubbish with all that."

"You don't look like an electrician," Molly commented, searching her pockets for a cigarette.

"Really? What do I look like, then?" George asked, also taking a cigarette, "The world's best guitarist?"

"You could be a farmer," Molly laughed, lighting both her and George's cigarettes.

"If I'm a farmer, you're a schoolmarm," George laughed after a drag.

"No thanks," Molly said, "That's my mum."

"Your mum's a teacher?" George asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Yep. She's taught at the Liverpool Institute for Boys for about fifteen years," Molly explained.

"Wait. Your mum's Mrs. Wade? _The_ Mrs. Wade?"

"Yep."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

"Me too," Molly paused, taking a long drag of her cigarette, "Come on. I think I see that church."

They walked in silence for a moment, but George broke it by saying, "I'm glad you joined, anyway."

"Really?" Molly asked, a hint of a smile betraying the surprise she felt from the butterflies that appeared in her stomach because of that sentence.

"Yeah. If it was anyone else, they probably wouldn't have been left-handed like you, and it'd look weird if we had three right-handed guitars and one leftie," George explained.

"Oh," Molly laughed, the butterflies dissipating, "Silly me, thinking you liked my guitar playing, or who I am as a person or something like that."

"Come off it, Mol, you know you're one of the gang," George said, "Your guitar though…"

"What about my guitar?" Molly said, mock offended.

"Hate to break it to you, miss, but you'll never play as good as I can," George boasted.

"Is that so?" Molly asked.

"It's the facts, cheeky baby."

A grin grew on Molly's face. "Are you willing to prove it?"

"Any time and any place," George said.

"As soon as we get home, then," Molly said, "It'll be me versus you, guitar battle."

"I don't know -"

"Aw, are you scared, Georgie?"

"Course not," he said, shaking his head, "I just don't want you to be too upset when I beat you."

"You wish," Molly laughed, "Come 'ead, here's the church."

George started up the steps of the large building, but Molly threw her arm out and caught him.

"You can't smoke in a church!" she hissed.

"Right," George said, dropping his cigarette on the steps and stamping it out as an amused Molly rolled her eyes.

"Let's go," she said, and the pair made their way into the dark church.

Immediately upon entering, they saw a stout nun sitting at a desk.

"Hello," Molly said, walking towards the desk with George following behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets, "We're lost, and we were hoping you'd help us."

"Oh, you poor dears," the nun cooed, smiling sympathetically, "And so young! Well, you've come to the right place. I'll just run and get the father. You're making the right decision, dears."

"I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?" George asked.

The nun offered a soft smile. "It's okay. Many people in your situation come to us for help, and we'll help you to the best of our ability. Your parents may be upset now, dears, but once they hold that little -"

"Whoa!" Molly yelled, "We're actually lost. We need directions to get home."

"Oh!" the nun said, her face turning the same shade of red as George's ears were, "I'm terribly sorry! I thought… well. What's your address?"

"114 Abington," Molly said sharply, sucking her stomach in.

"Oh, that's not very far at all!" the nun said, "Once you leave here, turn to the left and walk to the grocery, and turn left there and it's only two blocks from there."

"I told you we should've gone left," George grumbled.

Molly hit him lightly on the shoulder. She muttered an insincere thanks to the nun before grabbing George and running out of the building.

"You can stop holding in your stomach, you know," George said, "You don't look like you're pregnant."

Molly spun around to face him. "But the _nun_! They aren't supposed to judge!"

"Yeah, well, two scruffy-looking teenagers walk into a church asking for help. I'd think the same thing," George said, "Come on, Molly. If you look like you're pregnant, then so do I."

Molly cracked a grin. "Don't think that just because you're making me feel better right now, I'll go easy on you during our guitar battle."

"It won't matter if you do. I'll crush you," George chuckled, "Come on. Let's go home."

"We have to go find Paul and Ringo," Molly said.

"That won't be too hard," George said, nodding at something behind Molly.

She turned around and saw Paul and Ringo standing behind her.

"Hello," Ringo said cheerfully.

"But why are you-" Molly started, but was interrupted by Paul.

"We were bored. How do we get home?"

"To the left. Come on, fellas," George said, "And Molly."

With a quick roll of her eyes, Molly followed the other three Beatles as they ran down the street, whooping like animals.

_Let me hear you say the words I long to hear._

_Darling, when you're near…_

Brian paced the floor of the Whatever Room while John and Cynthia sat on a couch, whispering sweet nothings to each other.

When he could no longer handle it, Brian yelled, "Where are they?"

"Ah, calm down, Eppy. They'll get here," John said.

"We've been here for an hour. Where could they possibly-?"

Brian was cut off by the front door slamming open and the four missing Beatles charging in, singing, "My sunshine used to smile for me, but then she traded me for style!"

"Boys!" Brian boomed, "Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"

"Sorry, mum," Paul laughed, "We went out for groceries and got lost."

"Well, you shouldn't have left," Brian said, "I've got news for you."

"Is it good news or bad news?" Ringo asked.

"It depends on what you boys think of Hamburg," Brian said.

"I think I was deported," George said.

"Same here," Paul said.

"Never mind that," Brian said, "Because of the contract you signed the last time you were there, you have to tour again. You'll be going to Hamburg next month and in December."

"Touring?" Molly said, "Gear!"

"But how are we able to go back if Paul and I were deported last time?" George asked.

"Well, your contract is legally binding, for one, and the fact that you're currently number seventeen on the charts might have something to do with it," Brian said with a smile.

"Seventeen?" Ringo cried, "Alright! Hamburg, here we come!"

"Never mind Hamburg," George smiled, "We'll take on the world! Seventeen's only sixteen away from one, you know."

"While you lot are busy celebrating, Cyn and I have our own announcement," John said, "You want to tell them, Cyn?"

Cynthia beamed as she said, "Our wedding's next week!"

During the boisterous congratulations that followed, no one noticed as Paul's face turned pale.

"Next week?" he repeated dumbly.

"Right before we leave," John said happily, "And Macca, would you do me the honor of being my best man?"

"No," Paul whispered, looking from John to Cynthia, "I couldn't."

"Why not?" John asked angrily.

Paul froze, unable to think of an excuse. Molly, who had noticed Paul's unease, came to his defense.

"Well, Eppy wants to keep this a secret, right? It'd be sort of obvious what's going on if you take Paul with you," Molly said.

"She's right," Brian said, "George, why don't you do it?"

"Hey," John snapped, "It's my wedding. I should get to choose who my best man is."

"Then by all means, John, pick someone," Brian said.

"Hey Georgie, d'you want to be my best man?" John asked.

"Sure," George said as an exasperated Brian rolled his eyes.

"Come on, then," Ringo said, searching the grocery bags for anything they could toast the couple with, "Let's celebrate!"

As the group cheered, Molly turned around to notice Paul slinking up the stairs, his guitar in hand.

George's voice pulled her from the curious scene.

"I guess we'll have to postpone our guitar battle," he said.

"You just don't want to admit I'd beat you," Molly smirked.

"In your dreams, Molly Wade," George chuckled, "In your dreams."

"Dreams?" Molly laughed, "I won't be sleeping for a while."

When George was totally confused, she added, "In the past twenty four hours, I've dated Ringo and Paul, and I've been pregnant with your kid. That's enough to give a girl nightmares for months!"

_Words of love you whisper soft and true._

_Darling, I love you._

* * *

><p>AN: *Paul McCartney voice* I'm sorry, I'm sorry, God, I'm sorry! *Normal voice* Yes, I know. I'm a bum, and I haven't updated for about a month. Here's a list of things I'm going to blame:<p>

*Band camp

*School starting

*Writer's block

*Difficulty in picking a song to match the chapter (Which I didn't do very well anyways... oops. Oh, and I used the whole song. WHAT?)

That's about it, really. I told myself I had to update, because my scumbag of a brain has been writing chapters for 1968 and 1964 and 1976 and things like that, but story-wise, we're still in 1962. Ah. All the same, I think I liked how this turned out. Next chapter, we'll be in Hamburg! Whoo, Hamburg! Tell me what you think in a review, if you'd like! Your comments are always appreciated! :-D


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